A Long Way Down
by megyal
Summary: AU: girl!Harry and girl!Draco.
1. Chapter 1

By the time her crush on Ron resolved itself back into the easygoing rhythm of friendship, Harriet figured she had a thing for tall people.

That would actually make a lot of sense. Harriet had already accepted that she would always be petite (_short_, Hermione would scoff. _Really short_), so she would need someone taller to balance the whole thing. Ron had looked at her with large shocked eyes when she had shyly kissed him on the cheek near the lake and stammered something along the lines of _you're like my sister, that would be sort of wrong._

Hermione had found Harriet curled up in her bed in the sixth-year girl's dorm, scowling at the soft hangings of the four-poster.

"Move over," she'd ordered and when Harriet didn't move, she'd used her bare foot and shoved hard at Harriet's hip to make space.

"He's a git," Harriet said and rubbed at her eyes underneath her glasses as Hermione curled into her side. The scar on her forehead showed only briefly as she brushed her hands through dark waves. "I mean. I _really_ like him."

"He's a good friend, Harri," Hermione admonished. "He'd never be with you for your name. He just wants to protect you. Not like those...others."

Harriet had glared at her. There weren't a lot of _others_. Just _tall_ ones, like Seamus, who didn't know how to keep his damned mouth shut. Ginny had had to hex him when they'd broken up and he'd gone around telling people that the Girl-Who-Lived also gave fantastic head. Harriet loved her for that, so very much. Katie Bell, on the other hand, knew how to keep everything under lock and key and it would have worked out very nicely--_if_ she hadn't kept spoiling the whole mood with hasty whispers of _you won't tell anyone about this?_ and _oh, god, that shouldn't feel so good_. Katie was slender and felt so nice under Harriet's fingers, but she was too nervous and that usually made Harriet grumpy.

"I'm a marked woman," she'd declared to Hermione, who huffed. "No-one will want me for me."

"Stop acting so melodramatic," Hermione had said. "You know I hate it when you do that. You sound like Malfoy during Arithmancy."

She'd gotten over it, because that was just how Harriet Potter was. She was everyone's little heroine and she had long resigned herself to her fate. It hurt only a little to go to classes and Quidditch practice with Ron and have him throw her a crooked, awkward smile; but resilience was her middle name (it was actually Lilliane) and after she had smiled back at him easily and chattered with him about strategy, it had been more relaxed between them after that.

He'd even been so pleased with their victory over Slytherin in the second game of the school-year, that he'd picked her up and spun her around in a circle as soon as she landed, just like he used to before she'd tried a move. Harriet still had the Snitch struggling in her fist and her broom clutched in her other hand; she shrieked when Ron twirled her, the round frames of her glasses pressing against her face.

"Ron! I'm sweaty!"

"Oh man, that bitch Malfoy!" Ron roared, ignoring Harriet's protests. "I'm sure she nearly knocked you off your broom on that last pass! That was a foul, Harri, she used her knees and you know it--"

"It wasn't a foul," a cool voice came from behind them, carrying clearly over the celebratory shouts of Gryffindors. "That was a fair play and how _dare_ you call me that, you bottom-feeder."

Harriet peeked over Ron's shoulder into Malfoy's slim haughty face. It was really a pity Malfoy was a bitch and a Slytherin. _She_ was tall, with legs that went on forever; not to mention that _hair_.

"Not many people can pronounce Drahomíra, dear," Harriet said with sugary contempt as Ron released her to face Malfoy. "So we'll just have to stick with _bitch_."

"Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy said with freezing grace. "You wouldn't understand the delicacy of a name like mine, so kindly keep it out of your cock-sucking mouth." She spun on her heel, snapping at the rest of her team, leaving Harriet to splutter in outrage. Ron shook his head.

"Merlin, _seriously_, she's hot. But as a bitch extraordinaire, she'd take my balls off," he remarked and Harriet had to laugh at his bemused expression.

Harriet thought that with all the grief Malfoy gave her (_Why, Potter, did you wake up ugly this morning?_), she'd be happy to be rid of the Slytherin Ice Queen. As it was, when she went missing near the end of the school year, during a leisurely walk to Hogsmeade, Harriet was deeply rattled. There was something comforting about having Malfoy around to nettle and be nettled. Now, as she watched the Slytherins poke listlessly at their breakfasts, she was forcibly reminded that she had a duty. Everyone was depending on her.

"Do you think she went to join _Him_?" Hermione muttered under the constant clinking of the forks against the white plates that had the Hogwart's crest set right in the middle of them. Harriet shrugged and touched the tines of her fork to the slim gold line that separated the lion from the snake, pushing aside some scrambled eggs. Surprisingly, it was Ron that answered.

"I don't think so. I don't know why I do," he clarified at Hermione's raised eyebrows. "But she just didn't give me that vibe, as evil as she is. Besides, look at Parkinson."

Harriet snuck a look from under her lashes and was shocked to see how drawn Parkinson's face appeared. She was regarding her food as if it had turned to sand in her mouth; Zabini snuck his arm around her shoulders. Parkinson leaned into the comforting embrace, her face contorting. For the first time, Harriet saw them not as nasty, back-biting sneaks; but here was a girl worried over her best friend. Harriet felt the weight on her shoulders press down a little more and she put down her fork, taking a drink of juice to get rid of the lump in her throat.

"Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall intoned sharply behind them and they all jumped. "The Headmaster would like to see you before your first class."

"Yes, Professor," Harriet replied meekly, getting up and trying to ignore the hopeful gleam in Parkinson's eyes.

The Headmaster steepled his fingers and tapped them against his pursed lips. Standing beside him, Professor Snape glowered at Harriet, who resisted the urge to squirm and adjust her skirt under her robes. The skirt could have been a little short for regulation, but Harriet hadn't seen the need to have new ones made when these still fit. She supposed that the frugality instilled in her by living with the Dursleys went pretty deep.

"Harriet," Headmaster Dumbledore finally addressed her and Harriet focused on him gratefully. "I know this is a delicate subject, but I must ask: Have you had any visions from Voldemort recently? Especially any one concerning Miss Malfoy?"

"No sir," she responded. "It's been almost too quiet."

Professor Snape looked ready to strangle her. His long thin fingers clenched rapidly and he actually took a step towards where she sat in the squashy armchair. Harriet tensed and sat up in challenge.

"Don't let your petty arguments get in the way of her _life_, Potter," Snape spat and Harriet bounced up out of her seat. Really, Hermione was right about her temper.

"I'm not! I'm worried about her too," she cried and wrapped her arms around herself. "She was never my enemy."

"Oh. So wonderfully demonstrated by the hair-pulling episode last week," Snape said dryly and Harriet closed her eyes for a moment.

"Not like Voldemort. She never killed my parents or tried to kill me. She was just...Malfoy."

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore said warning as the Snape opened his mouth for another attack. "I believe that Harriet knows nothing. Thank you, my dear."

Harriet stood up and gave them a questioning look.

"Sir, will... will the Order be trying to get her back?"

"If I knew where she was," Dumbledore responded wearily. "I would go there myself."

* * *

_Really, Harriet_, she could almost hear Hermione admonish. _Were you ASKING to be kidnapped?!_

"Oh, shut up," Harriet muttered, trying to wish the throbbing headache away. She really didn't know what happened. One minute she had been walking arm-in-arm with Hermione and Ron, the three of them lagging behind the large group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws coming back from a Hogsmeade outing. Her scarf had unwrapped itself from around her neck in a sudden strange gust of wind and she had darted out from between the two, ignoring their sudden cries as she snatched the offending material out of a low branch. When their yells had become more frantic, she had turned to look at them quizzically. The last thing she remembered before a large hand closed over her eyes was the panicked expression on Ron's face as he rushed in her direction.

"Urgh," she groaned and rolled on the large bed she lay in. She lay on her stomach for a little bit and then rocked back to rest on her heels, feeling nauseous. She looked down herself and was shocked to see she was only dressed in a long dark-grey shift without sleeves, her wand nowhere to be found. She folded her arms against her chest and grasped the small golden pendant that she wore all the time, a little stag that Ron and Hermione had bought for her. Harriet squeezed it and hoped that the homing charm had activated.

"I don't think it will work," Malfoy said with forced calm from where she was sitting in the shadows. "The wards won't allow it."

Harriet stared at her. She was sitting at the head of the bed, gathered up into herself tightly, arms wrapped around knees. Her hair, usually caught up in a severe knot in the nape of her neck, was loose and soft around her face. The dim candle-light around them flickered, making her grey eyes molt into gold and revealing that she was wearing the same get-up as Harriet.

"You're alive," Harriet said a little breathlessly, crawling towards her and Malfoy's delicate features twisted. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Shut up, you wouldn't _understand_--"

"What wouldn't I understand? Where are we?" Harriet looked around and saw no doorway; just a tall square room with stone walls and narrow windows set almost at the level of the ceiling. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the space.

"We're in a hidden castle, Lescudjack," Malfoy said in a low voice. "In Penzance."

Harriet felt herself go pale. Penzance was about as far as one could get on the UK mainland without falling off into the sea; the distance from Hogwarts was immense. Malfoy seemed to be on the brink of tears and without thinking, Harriet reached out a trembling hand; to her surprise, Malfoy reached out a corresponding one, lacing their fingers together tightly. Her hands, always delicate and well-groomed, were scarred, a few fingernails blackened. Harriet stared at them, feeling ill.

"We'll get out soon," Harriet promised, switching her gaze to Malfoy's face. "Don't worry."

"Potter, always with the stupid hope. It won't be soon enough," her companion replied in a dark whisper. "There's a ritual tonight and he's going to--" She gasped and pulled her hand away, and Harriet turned her head, tossing her hair out of her eyes impatiently. A line glowed in the middle of the wall directly opposite to the bed, widening to a tall rectangle. The bright light faded within it and Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, giving Harriet an appraising glance.

"So good to see you awake, Miss Potter," he smirked at her. "We're happy to have you here."

"The feeling's _so_ not mutual," Harriet ground out, the pain that had been a low mutter in her scar now a full scream as soon as the doorway had been opened. Lucius laughed cheerily and they both backed up as he advanced on them.

"Come, Draza, my darling," he said smoothly and Malfoy twitched.

"You're not allowed to call me that anymore," she replied, her face pressed into her arms. Her hair fell in a light waterfall around her bent knees; even so, her voice sounded imperious. Unyielding. "Papa, I don't want to go."

"It's not a matter of what you want or not, Drahomíra," Lucius snapped, pulling out his wand. "It's really all about what you're contributing to our Lord. _Accio_ daughter," he said coolly. Harriet cried out and lunged for Malfoy as she slid along the length of the bed, grabbing her wrists and holding on tight. Malfoy twisted in her grasp, trying to pull herself back towards Harriet, when Lucius made a slicing motion with his wand and Malfoy was ripped from her hands. Draza's screams were cut off as her father put her into a full-body bind; Harriet scrambled off the bed and rushed to the doorway behind them, bouncing painfully off some invisible blockade.

"Let her go!" Harriet screamed, pounding her small fists against the barrier and watching as Lucius levitated his daughter down a dank corridor.

"Have no fear, little dark lovely," Lucius threw back, his dark robes almost blending in perfectly with the surroundings. "In a few days, it will be your turn."

Harriet was forced back as the stones materialized into place, shouting until her throat was raw.

* * *

**Notes:** This is the first of three chapters, to be posted within the coming week. I hope its not too weird so far!

It had been written for a fanart I had seen on livejournal [**NC-17, NWS** (remove the spaces in the link and it should work): http // blue-onion . livejournal. com / 11379. html

The title is taken from a Sarah McLachlan song,_ Ice Cream_: _it's a long way down to the place where we started from_. I honestly cannot tell you why I chose that lyric. All I know is that I really like that song.


	2. Chapter 2

When Draza was returned, Harriet pretended to be asleep. She felt more than heard the slight _whoosh_ of air through the opened doorway and tried to relax her breathing even more. She could hear Draza's laboured inhalations and the leisurely steps of Lucius; she tried not to stiffen as the bed dipped on the far side.

When Lucius came around and touched the side of Harriet's face with a gloved hand, it took everything in her not to bite off his thumb. She felt the smooth material rub against her lip and bravely squashed down a shudder.

"The mother of the new morn," Lucius said in a low, almost reverent tone and stroked back the messy strands from Harriet's face. "Our future assured."

His hand hesitated and Harriet made up her mind that if it decided to roam further down, she would gleefully tear it from his arm. However, Lucius seemed satisfied with whatever he was doing and after a few moments he exited. For good measure, Harriet counted to twenty, slowly, before opening her eyes and rolling over to face Draza.

She was curled up in a tight ball, her body shaking almost minutely. Harriet, who had argued and fought with this same girl nearly every day for six years, didn't wait to scoot closer and press against a hand against her back, making soft comforting sounds.

"Don't _touch_ me," Draza said wretchedly, twisting away. "I don't want to be touched ever again. Just _don't_."

Harriet hesitated. Making up her mind, she pulled at Draza until she was sitting with her back to the bed-head, Draza's lean body draped across her more compact frame. She tucked the shockingly blonde head into the crook of her neck and stroked the fine hair slowly; in spite of this, it took a very long time for Draza's body to relax. Harriet felt like she had a large mannequin across her legs, until she felt the skin at her collarbone become damp with tears.

"Did...did he--?" Harriet simply couldn't form the rest of the sentence. Draza's head moved slowly underneath her chin.

"It wasn't physical," Draza whispered back, "But it was still..._invasive_. My mind...how could Father do this?"

"I don't know," Harriet murmured, thinking about the soft smile of her own father when she saw him in the Mirror of Erised. She pulled a hand down the soft fall of Draza's hair and thought about how silky it felt at her fingertips.

"They're waiting for the right time. For you," Draza said, turning her face slightly. Her hair tickled Harriet's nose. "I'm--look, you shan't believe me, Potter, but I'm sorry."

Harriet bit her lip and pressed her cheek against the top of Draza's head.

"Don't be," she said, her voice wavering. "But why? What will happen at the right time?"

"The right time, the right place," Draza said, at the edge of an exhausted sleep. "And The Child will be conceived between of two of great power."

Harriet felt her whole body go dry. Not her. Oh no, _nonono_, not her and that awful semblance of a man.

"I _saw_ this," Draza said and Harriet breathed deep. "I _divined_ it and did you know I was jealous of you? I thought it wasn't fair that you would be the one with the power. How stupid of me. With _him_, no-one else has power but himself."

"Is--" Harriet started in a croak. She cleared her throat. "Is that really my future?"

Draza didn't answer and for a moment, Harriet thought she had fallen asleep.

"As it is now," she suddenly murmured in a trance-like voice that sent tendrils of fear up Harriet's back, "It is the most likely one."

* * *

Harriet was the first to awaken, Draza curled comfortably and warm against her; she could smell the warm scent of food from the breakfast tray placed on the floor, near where the doorway appeared in the wall. She got up and peered suspiciously at it as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She hated that eye-charms didn't work on her; the same personal magic that had always reverted her hair to its astonishing state after every attempt at a bowl-cut hair attack by Aunt Petunia, repelled every one of Hermione's tries of adjusting her vision.

"Do you...do you need to use the bathroom?" Draza said, sitting in bed and Harriet blinked at her, then nodded. Draza got up, moving slowly to the wall perpendicular to the one that had the exit-door. She pressed her hand against a lighter coloured stone and the same bright line appeared, widening into a different doorway. "In here."

Harriet paused at the doorway, looking up into Draza's pinched face. She took her by the arm and led her into the bath.

"I think you might want to...soak a bit," she said, trying to make her voice gentle. She had always considered herself a tomboy, so Hermione was forever telling her to use her Indoors Voice. Draza seemed uncertain, but Harriet dragged her in.

"I'll run the bath," she said, trying to keep casual as she bustled over the large claw-footed tub. "And I won't look when you take off that thing. Jasmine or Roses?"

Draza was silent behind her and Harriet's hands paused over the knobs that controlled the soaps, fingers trembling slightly. Then there was a slight rustling sound.

"I prefer the jasmine," she said with a shade of that sharp Malfoy hauteur that had always driven Harriet mad. "Make sure you don't put too much."

"Yeah, yeah." Harriet stepped back, making sure not to look directly at Draza, even though she could see the miles of fair skin shimmering at the corner of her eye. As far as she could tell, there weren't any scars; she busied herself at the sink as Draza sunk into the warm bath. "Better?"

"Yes." Draza could have been smiling but Harriet wasn't too sure. She had taken off her glasses and placed them on the ledge of the face-basin to wash her face. "Thank you, Potter."

"I've slept in the same bed with you. I think you can call me Harriet. Or Harri. That's what most of my friends call me but you don't have to you don't want to...and I'll just be quiet now."

"That would be acceptable," Draza said. "And Harri is a nice enough nickname. A little pedestrian and a lot butch, but nice nonetheless."

Harriet snorted weakly.

"Right." She hesitated and then went to sit on the edge of the tub; the darkened ends of Draza's hair floated in the water, clinging to the pale skin. Harriet had always wondered how Draza never got sunburnt.

"It wasn't that bad," Draza spoke up suddenly, trailing one slim hand on the bubbly surface of the water, her knees poking up like twin white islands in a sea of bubbles. "It wasn't rough, or anything. All I had to do was lie there and have magic go all oily over my skin."

"I--"

"It was a purification ritual. One virgin needed to get ready for the big night tomorrow. You being the main event, of course," Draza continued, her voice becoming steely. The mood-swing was a little too much for Harriet to take.

"It wasn't my fault," Harriet said defensively and Draza glared at her.

"Did I say it was? And yet, you are the reason I am here. Always, _always_, it's about you."

"Wait, you think I _asked_ for this?" Harriet said, incredulous. Draza's face was sullen, looking away. "You think I wrote a little letter?" Harriet raised a hand and wrote angrily in the air:" _'Dear Merlin, This is my Heart's Desire: For Voldemort to fuck with my life and mess with other people._'"

Draza only scowled at the tiles.

"If I could change everything, I _would_." Harriet's voice was heated. "I would really talk to you on the train in first-year. I would make everyone understand that Sirius Black was innocent, yes he _is_, don't look at me like that. I would--I would kill Tom Riddle before he even thought of becoming Voldemort."

Large grey eyes fixed on Harriet, who was breathing as if she had been flying a marathon.

"You're supposed to be the most powerful witch in our time," Draza said sulkily. "So tell me, why aren't we out of here yet?"

Harriet squelched the urge to shove Draza's head under the water.

"Let me eat something first. Then maybe I can think clearly above you throwing your bitch fits," she replied, rising stiffly from her perch on the edge of the bathtub. She was so pissed at Draza, that, without thinking, she held out her hand and wished that she didn't have to walk all the way over to the sink for her glasses. The round black frames floated serenely into her palm.

Draza jerked up in the tub as if someone had pinched her viciously and stared at Harriet, who put on her glasses and looked back warily.

"How long," Draza began tightly, "How _long_, Potter, have you been able to do wandless magic?"

Harriet blinked at her and then shrugged, not knowing what the big deal was; also, she was trying so very hard not to stare at Draza's breasts (which were well-rounded and a little bigger than she thought they would have been, nipples crinkled tight...not that she was _looking_, or anything).

"It happens when I'm not really thinking about it," Harriet hedged. Draza rolled her eyes violently and got up out of the tub (_look at those legs...and I was _right_, she is a natural blonde_, Harriet mused and then mourned a little when Draza jerked on the shapeless long tunic)

"Stupid bint," Draza spat, grabbing Harriet by the wrist and literally yanking her out of the bathroom. "Tell you what, _Harri_. You're going to _not-really-think_ about getting me out of this place."

"Oh, joy," Harriet said snidely and yelped a little as Draza squeezed her wrist without mercy.


	3. Chapter 3

Harriet huffed and turned over on her side of the bed, feeling the rough cotton of the sheets scratch inquisitively at her skin. The whole damned day, Draza had been on her case.

"The windows," Draza had whispered fiercely, pointing up when she had dragged Harriet out of the bath-room. It had been mid-morning, evidenced by weak yellow light that filtered through the high slits on the wall. "I'm almost sure the wards don't go that far up."

Harriet had glared at her, yanking her wrist out of Draza's surprisingly damp grip.

"So?"

"_Think_, why don't you?" Draza had stepped close and Harriet refused to give her any ground, even though she was a lot shorter. "Use wandless magic and levitate your little trinket out a window. When it's past the wards, it can give out whatever signal your rescue team has."

"And what if the wards _do_ go up that high?" Harriet took off her chain and looked intently at the finely-made stag pendant resting in the middle of her palm. It seemed to almost tremble against her skin and she attributed it to the fact that there was a lot of her own magic woven into it, this one piece of jewelry she owned so far; she fervently hoped that one of the Death Eaters had tried to take it off her: they would have received a bone-jarring shock. When there was no answer to the question, she looked up at Draza's face set so close to hers, worried and pale.

"Let's not dig into that right now." Draza set her jaw and stared at Harriet. "Go ahead. Do it."

Harriet had tried. Really. She had focused all her energy on the little piece of gold and tried to _will_ it into floating up and away from her, imagining it to be the feather in Professor Flitwick's first charms class, bobbing smugly above their heads. The pendant slid once towards her forefinger, but otherwise did not move.

To her credit, Draza did not say anything derisive, but the mixture of anxiety and annoyance stamped on her sharp features made Harriet's stomach clench.

"Will you _stop_ staring?" she had groused once, right after they had eaten, resting on the floor with her back against the bed. Draza had been kneeling right before her, long legs folded neatly underneath, gazing into Harriet's face. "You're making me lose concentration."

Draza had scoffed delicately.

"What concentration?" She had had a very slight smile on her face despite her scorn and Harriet shot her a concerned look; maybe Malfoy was feeling ill to be looking at her like that. Then Malfoy had scowled at her and called her stupid and Harriet had retorted with _evil bitch_ and that had been the end of that conversation.

Now, after a long, infuriating day, filled with long silences, dry food and a nervous bath, Harriet folded her hands beneath her cheek, the little stag still squeezed tightly in one hand; biting her lip, she tried to fall asleep.

A faint tremor ran through the stone walls and she sat up quickly, feeling Draza jerk up just as fast beside her.

"Um. What was that?" she questioned weakly, the both of them unconsciously moving close to each other. Draza flung her arms around Harriet suddenly, squeezing her close. Another minute shaking of the walls (she could actually _see_ a ripple warp through the stones) and Harriet clutched at Draza's shift.

"I---I think they're starting the final ritual."

"Now?!" Harriet pulled away and opened her palm, staring at the pendant in the dim candlelight. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't do anything but gasp wildly. She felt fearful, but not for herself: She had a deep conviction that Draza would be included as well in the final ritual...and it would be to her demise. "Look. You have to help me, or something."

"How do you suggest I do _that_?" Draza snapped. She put a hand over her mouth, wide eyes flickering between that space in the wall where the corridor door would surely open any second now, and Harriet's hand. Taking a few bracing breaths and shuffling around, she put out both hands and cupped Harriet's own. "Alright, alright. Let's try relaxing a bit."

"Easy for you to say, _you're_ not the one trying to move this thing...shit, I need a wand. Oh, _Circe_, I think I hear them coming."

Draza moved her thumbs slowly against the sides of Harriet's hands. Her eyes took on a glassy sheen.

"Just shut up for a minute. You _are_ a wand...think about it that way?"

Harriet pursed her lips and shifted her focus. She stopped bending her concentration on the pendant itself and went about it the same way she did magic with her wand, actually picturing the tip of the wand in her head. She felt an odd tingle, not unlike a persistent itch, build up in her right forefinger.

"_Leviosa_," Harriet whispered; the pendant rose a little way and stopped, waiting.

"More," Draza urged, her thumbs still stroking.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Harriet tried again. The pendant shot straight up and Harriet pushed her magic at it as Draza inhaled in sharp triumph, forcing it to the nearest window. It wavered right at the top of the window and Harriet frowned, all her concentration engaged; thin blue tendrils of light crackled briefly into view as the pendant seemed to skim the very edge of the wards. Almost at the same time, the corridor doorway appeared in the wall.

Harriet slumped against Draza in agony as Voldemort swept into the room.

"Hello, little dark lovely," Voldemort's dry voice rasped to them as Draza trembled behind Harriet, who was trying so very hard not to throw up from the pain. It was intense, drilling into her skull through the scar. She could literally feel the shape of it raised and painful against her skin and when Voldemort bent over and stroked long white fingers against her cheek, she grimaced and tried to arch away from the cold, slimy sensation.

Voldemort, accompanied by only a few cloaked members of his inner council, laughed softly. He was wearing some sort of glamour, or else the spell he had worked with Harriet's blood in the Triwizard Tournament was doing him a world of good. If she paid attention, she would have noted that he appeared almost human again, black hair thick and curling into a long braid, his skin flawless. Right at that moment, however, she was more concerned with resting back against Draza, trying to convince her limbs to move. She seemed immobilised with a sort of furious ache and with a flick of his wand, Voldemort bound them so that they lay side-by-side, joined together with curling red and green silken material. The red wrapped around Draza's neck and wrists, knotting with the green that slid around Harriet's waist.

"I'm sure Miss Malfoy told you about the ritual," he said with obscene mildness. "I need the magic that pumps her blood and provides the mechanisms of her thoughts, to power the implantation of my essence in you."

"What? _Rapist_," Harriet growled, twitching underneath the weight of a modified _Impedimentia_ spell. "I won't carry any child of yours, you bastard." To her own ears, she sounded weak, ineffectual. Apparently, the Death Eaters and their lord thought the same thing, for they smiled at each other.

"Who said anything about a child?" Voldemort indulgently. "You, the great heroine of Mudbloods, are the vessel of my greatest rebirth. Your body infused with both our magic... and my mind controlling it."

"That's... that's insane," Harriet whispered. Beside her, Draza turned her face into her own shoulder to stifle a whimper.

"That's _immortality_. They don't teach you these things in school, my sweet?"

Voldemort motioned to his retinue; each of them took up a corner of the bed and held out their wands at chest-level; one's hand seemed to tremble slightly and Harriet spotted a wisp of blond hair escaping from underneath the black hood of that one, strands as white as Draza's. They began to whisper and Draza went into a deep trance, relaxing completely against the bed. As Harriet turned her head to look at Draza, she saw the already pale skin go completely ashen.

Extra magic started to shunt itself into Harriet and she struggled against the foreign feel of it. A bizarre sensation, another personality, skittered delicately against the outskirts of her mind; she saw rapid images, dark memories flashing across her fading vision, screams and blood and the scent of sulphur.

Then there were other images, comforting ones, that didn't seem to come from Voldemort at all: a sated chuckle, dark hair twined against almost-white strands. A hand sliding down a taut bare stomach.

"_Transtuli_," Voldemort murmured, leaning close. Harriet smelt the sickening sweetness of his breath. "_Praesentia mei. Praesentia tui_."

Draza gasped and shuddered beside her and Harriet fought desperately against the load of magic, Draza's surprisingly pure power being sacrificed to the seductively dark magic of Voldemort, pushing against her, pressing against her resistance.

"No," she spat, twitching. "Not me and _not her_." Harriet had always been told that she was the stubborn type; as if to prove this, she clenched her fists, pressed her heels into the bed and made a violent mental push, every muscle taut. Voldemort gave a harsh low scream and clawed at his forehead, the glamour falling away to reveal mottled skin, stretched thin over the jagged bones of his face; the immobilising spell he had placed on them faded.

There was a shout from one of the whisperers by the bed and Harriet nearly burst into tears to see Dumbledore materialise right beside the door. He did not pop in with the suddenness of Apparition; he simply seemed to melt out of the wall. His face looked mostly calm under his long white bead and hair, as if he had been invited for tea, but his eyes glared blue with fury.

"Professor!" Harriet cried, trying to scramble up. Voldemort whirled, snarling and Draza inhaled sharply; she groaned in pain as Harriet's movements pulled at the coloured binds between them.

"Sorry, I'm _sorry_," Harriet muttered, turning back and grabbing at the binds. They burned her hands but she tore them apart. They crumbled into ash between her fingers, Draza's eyes fluttering open; the whites had gone blood-red, encircling the grey irises. Harriet blinked down at her as she reached up a hand and skimmed trembling fingers across Harriet's temple, brushing sweat-soaked hair away. As the rest of the Order popped into view, curses and hexes flying over them, Harriet flung herself atop Draza, trying to shield her.

"Come along." Harriet raised her head and looked up into Dumbledore's unruffled face. He hovered right over them, completely ignoring the cries of battle, but Harriet noticed his wand steadily directed at Voldemort. As soon as other Order members distracted him, the Headmaster took her hand and one of Draza's in a dry, strong grip and with a stomach-turning jolt, they all three were standing outside the crumbling castle-walls, the damp grass ticking Harriet's feet. She was leaning against Dumbledore, Draza's limp form draped securely in his arms. The Order quickly Apparated around them; Harriet thought she could hear Voldemort shrieking in rage and pain.

"Time to get home, yes?" Dumbledore said in a content voice. Ron's father was there, giving her a grim grin and wiping his bloody forehead as he produced a little plastic shovel, a child's one for playing in sand. Usually, Harriet hated travelling by Portkey; but as she felt the hook catch behind her navel and drag her across space and time, she thought there was no better feeling.

* * *

"Those who fight and run away," Ron intoned from his curled position at Harriet's small feet, "Live to fight another day." 

Harriet pressed her soles into his stomach and pinched him with her toes. He was smiling at her, Hermione tucked up in her usual spot right next to Harriet. The three of them barely had enough space to fit on the infirmary bed; and yet it was not quite enough. Their smiles were a little strained, but Harriet thought that they were the loveliest things she had ever seen. Dumbledore had left her and Draza in Madame Pomfrey's bustling care with an airy smile; before he had turned away, Harriet saw the smile on his face fade into something awful and nearly unfamiliar. In that moment, she saw why people said Voldemort feared Dumbledore.

"They're going to put some sort of guard on you now," Hermione said primly, stealing some sheets and eying Harriet's potions on the side-table with interest. "At least you'll know better not to go running off next time."

"You make it sound as if I love running towards danger," Harriet mumbled and they both gave her pointed looks. "What?"

Hermione opened her mouth to explain something when the curtain was pulled to one side and Draza stepped into the small sheltered space. She was wearing some sort of dark sleep-robe, the style eastern with its high rounded neck. Against the midnight of the colour, her skin glowed pale...and were those _chopsticks_ pinning her long hair in place? Harriet found it enchanting.

"You look nice," Harriet said shyly and Draza gave a very small wry smile. "For a person who was nearly murdered and stuff, I mean."

"Oh, well... thanks?" Draza's cool cheeks flushed red. "May I speak to you alone?"

Hermione turned large questioning eyes to Harriet, who tried to blink back innocently and failed. Hermione grappled with a gawking Ron and dragged him away past the slim girl. It was only when they left that Draza sank gracefully into a nearby seat.

"Thank you," she said simply, her voice tight; Harriet inclined her head. "I cannot go home, now, which is unfortunate, but..."

"But you're alive," Harriet put in. "I'm really glad you are."

Draza shifted in her seat and finally met Harriet's curious stare.

"While...while I was under that trance, I saw something. It might be a possible future, I suppose."

"Really?" Harriet leaned forward in the bed eagerly, tucking her hair behind her ears with her bandaged hands. "What was it about? Oooh, am I allowed to ask? But you wouldn't tell me if you weren't supposed to; really, you shouldn't be going around--"

Draza flapped her hands and Harriet snapped her mouth shut, looking sheepish. After a long look, Draza cleared her throat, _ahemming_ with embarrassment.

"It was _us_," she whispered and blushed so deeply that Harriet feared for her skin. "I could show you. If you want."

Harriet hesitated and then reached for her wand stuck next to a bright blue bottle on the nightstand. She tilted it almost casually at Draza, trying to seem non-threatening as she looked Draza in the eye.

"_Legilimens_," she said in a low voice and tried not to trample her way into Draza's head in the same manner she did in her Remedial Potions. Draza's breath hitched a little and Harriet probed just a little more.

She found that a memory of a future-event was even more difficult to pin down than that of a past occurrence. It was akin to holding onto a greased serpent, the memory twisting and sliding away. Harriet forced her way a little more and felt Draza's hand clasp onto hers, careful of her still-healing burns. The recollection (or memory of a prediction, Harriet felt she should call it that) stabilised, steadying from a distressed rocking into a calm movement, before it stilled enough to be seen clearly; Harriet frowned, noting a dark room, the walls purple in the almost non-existent light. There was someone on a bed...no...two someones.

Two...it was _them_.

They were a little older but there was no mistaking the wild black curl of Harriet's hair, or Draza's fan of bright silk against the comforter. She was moaning up into Harriet's mouth and they were both stripped naked. Harriet's hands were all over, light questing touches along Draza's hairline, down over the curve of breast to give a saucy squeeze, one hand slipping with confidence in between Draza's long legs; Draza clutched at her, arching and crying out as Harriet's hand moved in maddening circles.

"_Yes_," The Draza in the memory groaned. "_Oh...oh, more_."

"_Say it_," Memory (Future) Harriet demanded hoarsely. "_I want to hear you say it_." Her hand was moving quicker, even as Harriet watched in amazement, causing Draza's hips to buck off the bed. Draza turned her head and bit into Harriet's shoulder, saying something that was almost incoherent. Sweat was trickling down their flushed skin.

"_We already know that I love you_," Memory-Draza panted before her body froze and then descended into shudders. Memory-Harriet was smiling as she kissed the blonde sweetly, nipping at her bottom lip.

"_Yes.Yes, we know_," Harriet heard before she pulled out of the memory and stared at Draza. Surprisingly, Draza seemed calm.

."Is that really our future?" Harriet whispered, dragging her thumb across the skin over Draza's knuckles. She hoped Draza felt this soft all over. Draza raised their clasped hands and considered them before placing a quick kiss on Harriet's fingers.

"As it is now," she said, giving Harriet a slow grin; Harriet returned it willingly; "It is the most likely one."

_ fin_

* * *

Well, I do hope you liked it. Just a question; has anyone gotten replies to their reviews? I do try and reply, but I've always seen other writers reply after chapters in their fics and I was thinking that the replies were not sent out. Anyway, if you haven't, I do try reply, because I really appreciate you reading my stuff. 


End file.
